Crumpet's Last Day
by ChiiRyeeBiee
Summary: Arthur's pet cat Crumpet is at death's door. This is how he spends the last of his hours: with Alfred's pet cat Hero, his beloved owner and Alfred F Jones himself. Implied USUK and Nekotalia. Englandcat's POV.


**Nihao! ChiiRyeeBiee here! As obvious as it is (with my being on a fanfiction site, ffs), I can confidently tell you right now that I really enjoy writing. (OMG Chii, we so didn't know that! Boom boom, bring on the fireworks because that was soooo UNEXPECTED)**

**Anyway, here's a little drabble I wrote for a short story competition, but I ended up not winning it. :( No matter though, since I got a cool short story out of it! With some editing here and there, I converted my rather bland p****iece of work into a USUK fanfic because I'm cool like that, ha ha!**

**I'm so lame.**

**Not much to warn you about r****eally, except that I don't own Hetalia and there are some aspects of USUK, so if you don't ship my OTP, then there's a happy back button on your browser xD It's not too much, I promise. The story focuses more on Englandcat and Americat. **

**Also, I left the "name meanings" as they are from my original story, so just assume that Crumpet means "long life", Hero means "hardheaded" an****d Elizaveta means "to heal".**

**Ja. Salutations, dear readers!**

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><p>Crumpet's Last Day<p>

**Summary**: Arthur's pet cat Crumpet is at death's door. This is how he spends the last of his hours: with Alfred's pet cat Hero, his beloved owner and Alfred F Jones himself. Implied USUK and Nekotalia. Englandcat's POV.

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><p>I have all but a few days to live.<p>

How ironic, really. My beloved human had dubbed me with the name "Crumpet" the day I was born. A name that supposedly means "long life", "best wishes" and in some cases, the "tenth son". Not that any of these terms have ever applied to me of course, but then again, I'm yet to meet someone who lives up to their name. So far, Hero is the closest one I know who's met such a standard - hah, "hardheaded" indeed - bashing his head on rocks like a wild triceratops I'm surprised he hasn't turned completely insane yet.

I'm also yet to meet a nine-lived feline who's survived to prove it's true - that cats like us really had nine lives because I could surely use a one-up right now. Days spent sulking lazily isn't a very honourable way to go. Perhaps I should spend the last of my days travelling the world and seeing its remarkable wonders, or getting a move on publishing my first and last literary piece. I'm much too introverted to fall in love and start a family, but it won't hurt me to mention I've thought of this before.

If only Hero wasn't so protective of me.

Tch. It was the fat cat's fault for preventing me to go out and start wooing some lady cat already. I don't understand what the guy's problem is, but everytime I bring it up he pounces on me and nuzzles at my fur. "Bad Crumpet," he meows at me, and I quote, "You're not supposed to go out with anyone! You already have meeeeee!"

If I didn't care for the kit so much, I would have disregarded such childish pleas long ago.

Still. Hardheaded or not, I'm gonna miss Hero when I go. I'm gonna miss his stupid grin and silly purring. His blue eyes and the way he cuddles up next to me when I'm cold. Could this be an appropriate time to hope I lived up to my name? Because even for someone as realistic as me, I still wish upon meteor showers to give me a little more time.

**~o~**

Since the day I learned about my condition, I've taken to sitting on my windowsill, staring out at the sapphire sky and listening to the songs of the birds; melodies which I know I'll never hear again. I've noticed the weather changes unpredictably too - a few days ago, a soft, white blanket covered the earth, unlike today where the ground is about as dry as a week old bowl of pellet food. My noisy Italian neighbours and their equally irritating twin cats play catch outside everytime, and as interesting as their ball game could be, it fills my heart with pure envy. It is as if such mannerless felines (picture this, whoever thought a cat could play catch? Ridiculous, right?) and their owners kicking balls around and running laps are merely there to spite me and my inability to play such games.

My diet hasn't been too regular either, with my stomach thundering unpleasantly to remind me of my short-lived duties. No amount of eating will do me good now. I can't even smell the beefy aroma of Hero's human's freshly cooked steak, and the smell of food's supposedly the best thing about it! Sometimes I witness my owner berating the blue-eyed human for feeding me such a humongous serving. (Arthur, I love you and all, but to be honest, I'd choose Alfred's steak over your charcoaled excuse of a scone any day. Just saying.) The thing is, now that I'm dying, it doesn't matter what I eat or say anymore. Fairly soon I'll be gone anyway: like a lost soul in the breeze, impalpable and non-existent.

Then there's the pitying looks the humans give me each time I sneeze. My eyes twitch uncontrollably, and my throat remains parched and scratchy. When they tuck me in bed, Arthur never gives me kisses anymore. It's as if I'm as good as dead - the way he and Hero's human avoid me. Hero likes to stick around though. He curls up beside me and bathes me as I close my emerald eyes, purring reassurances of, "I'll always be here with you."

I still remember the first day we went to the doctor's. I was coughing and wheezing like an almost-broken down vehicle when Hero's owner found me and cried for help. Arthur had acted immediately; dialling the number of one Dr. Elizaveta Hédervary. Yet again someone who could have lived up to their name, if not for her lack of understanding when it comes to younglings like me. She poked at my sides too hard and checked my tongue for redness - you know, the normal nature of unwanted check-ups. Then came "The Look", a communicative gesture which Arthur and Alfred had exchanged with her. I didn't hear what they were talking about for Hero had accompanied me outside, my ears safe from the pessimistic news of my condition. I didn't need to know. "The Look" was enough to inform me. I was going to die, and I _knew_ it.

**~o~**

Hero enters my room with rodent-like tiptoes. He's the only one of them who hasn't given up on me yet. On the days I get to see him, a sliver of hope grows deep within, and when he smiles a sunlight it makes my limited life worth seeing through. He's been pushing a bowl across the room and it takes all of my strength to hop out of the bed and wobble towards him. I guess Alfred made chicken soup today; my absolute favourite. The blue-eyed human walks in sooner or later, petting my orangey-white fur. He extends a tissue towards me and I blow, clearing my olfactory cavities before I drink in the first spoonful of warmth.

"You're gonna be okay, Crumpet." My cat friend purrs quietly as Alfred ruffles my sienna hair. I know it's a fruitless lie, but I grin back at the kit anyway, my throat too sore to vocalize a reply. A loud call from one of the rooms goads Hero's human to leave; Arthur needing help with something, perhaps. Hero bathes me again before I rest, even though he and I both know I've been doing nothing else for the past month. Funny how much I'll miss him when I'm gone, even though dead souls can't feel anything. I've contemplated running away to avoid hearing his mewls of anguish the day they find me lying still in overused sheets. It pains me to think that may be the last thing I listen to, but it pains me more to die alone, without at least listening to Hero's affectionate whispers.

Arthur comes in with the last dose of treatment. I guarantee it's not going to work, but it doesn't stop him trying anyway. The green-eyed man lets me drink down the viscous pink syrup before it finally happens...

Oh no... this is it. My body seizes up, and my temperature's higher than ever. I yowl and scream in pain and Arthur's just standing there, giving me "The Look". I snarl and mentally curse at why he's refusing to help me. Hero's pouncing around in a distressed manner, using fat paws to cover his blue eyes. Did Arthur euthanize me? He couldn't have, he's my beloved owner! He raised me well and fed me, bathed me and gave me everything I needed... Alfred too; he was just as loving to me as Arthur was, and now...

Is this really it? Have they already prepared themselves to live without me? My chest tightens and I use the last of my breath to meow Hero's name._ Hero... Hero... Tell him I love him... Tell him he's always been the best and I'll never ever forget him, even in the afterlife. Tell him I regret everything horrible I've done towards him and if I could, I would choose to stay with him forevermore..._

I'm about to shut my eyes for the last time when I barely catch my owner's fond words.

"Crumpet, you over-dramatic cat. The vet says you'll be out of your cold tomorrow, so don't you worry anymore, love."

And then everything turns black.

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><p><strong>Teehee :) ChiiRyeeBiee loves reviews (￣▽￣) Thanks loads for reading!<strong>


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